Sense Memory

I love, love, LOVE the fall weather hitting Vermont right now. It's like a cold and clear breath of life that takes your heart in its grip and transports you to worlds of memories long forgotten yet still reminisced about. Upon each stinging breeze rides an image of crinkling leaves, the smell of apple cores and pumpkin spice, or the scratchy feel of a wool scarf on the skin. The chill which takes root in the feet and travels up each individual vertebrae to each follicle of hair holds a physical bond to day trips through an enchanted forest and afternoons spent on train tracks. The taste of dust and the feel of grit between teeth is a flash back to dirt roads and the hidden groves to which they lead.

Each memory dances with the senses in a waltz that began at birth. Each physical presence individually linked to an emotion draws me back yet pulls me forward at the same time. While I muse over the events and the feelings of the past, I am still pushed forward by a thirst for more. I long for more emotion, more feeling, more of the "breath life," for the essence that makes me utterly human. We long for the memories in life because that is what draws us forward, the longing and desire for future memories. We beg for new smells, feelings, and images that will give us retrospect to the events of our past and bring our lives in a circle.

Stepping from the front door, the fall's evening zephyr energizes my lungs and my body, propelling me forward into the sunset's lighted shadow. The leaves hanging stiffly from the trees' branches sway and crumple as they draw near to each other in anticipation of what is to come. Drawing my scarf closer to my throat, I walk along the broad sidewalk with heavy footfalls. The clouds above seem to sway lightly, taking in the moment below. I clutch my books to my chest and keep walking, observed and observing...

Hurricane Irene

Life has been like a whirlwind since beginning the new school year, the days blowing by like clouds long past the horizon. It has been a major adjustment to switch from the comfort and blissful emptiness of summer UVM campus to the bustling, bro and biddie-filled campus in my Wills nest with Joe, one of the most peaceful locations on campus (when the door is closed). I've seemed to transcend a summer of leisure, occasional work, and sun to another world of constant work, schedules that have me running constantly, and colder weather. There is something deeply rewarding for me to be constantly busy, however. It is that amazing reminder that tells me that I'm doing something with my life, and that I'm definitely not letting myself go to waste. As I get more and more busy, and my planner gets so full it defies the boundaries of the page, and colder air permeates Burlington, I look forward to the promise of fall: of holidays, foliage, the smell of pumpkin spice, fresh apples, good and hearty food, and warmer clothes that allows every being to bundle up and get cozy with the ones they love.

A couple of Saturdays ago, my niece Iris turned one!

There was a full-on double rainbow glowing in the sky during one of our Hairspray rehearsals. It was honestly one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in nature.

The start of school was delayed one day at UVM because of the wrath of Hurricane Irene. Megan, Ashley, and I holed ourselves up in the Spinner Place apartment while the storm raged outside. At first, the "storm" was quite anticlimactic. There was a piddle of rain, and not even the slightest rumble of thunder. Slowly, however, the clouds turned the sky completely black and the rain picked up. The Winooski river began to rise and raged its fierce power, boasting with the overflow of water. Meanwhile, the rest of Vermont was being swept away, the power of water rearing itself upon the land.

'Dis bitch.

As the storm battled against the earth outside, news reports rolled in about the devastation happening throughout Vermont. There were videos of bridges being swept away and pictures of towns in Southern Vermont being cut off from the rest of the state because of the flood waters. In the morning, the sun timidly  rose to illuminate the aftermath. Burlington was beautiful, the rainwater glistening in the high sunshine, and the city was not highly devastated.

The Waterfront was beautiful.

In a way, the beginning of the school year has been just like Hurricane Irene. Everything has been so crazy and disorganized to start with, but hopefully now I've started to get a better control. It's another wild start to another insane school year.

Oh, and....

Peace out!

Dear Boys

Please flush the toilet after you use it. I don't care if you're drunk, I don't care if you think you're wasting water, flush your disgusting bodily functions away, especially your puke which does not belong on the floor. Also, please work on your aim. I know some of you may be aspiring Jackson Pollocks out there, but the Wills first floor bathroom is not the place to practice. Please don't leave your moldy soap in the showers for it does not make me feel clean. Please don't leave your stereo blasting in the bathroom when I have to pee in the middle of the night. And for God's sake, please WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER YOU PEE. When you pee, you hopefully have to touch your penis (see above plea about aiming), and your penis is covered in sweat, bacteria, and urine spray. Said bacteria then covers your hands which then infect anything you touch. WASH YOUR FILTHY HANDS YOU DISGUSTING FRESHMEN BOYS.

If you obey these simple life rules, we can get along and have a nice, peaceful semester at Wills. Don't make this hard on yourself.

Love,
Ryan and Joe. Wills 108.

My Everything Hurts

...and within a period of two days, I was packed up and moved out of my wonderful single in UHeights to the tiny double in Wills, but it's not all that bad. Somehow I found a way to take the lofted bed and fit Megan's loveseat under it. It created quite the batcave effect, which has been a pretty awesome addition to the room so far. I'm just waiting this week out now until Joe arrives on Sunday and school starts.

I'm so completely ready for school to start. Everything is in order, schedules have been made, books have been bought (In 14 different orders on Amazon as well as one from UVM.), and supplies have been organized. Megan and I just talked about how exciting it's going to be to pack up our backpacks Sunday night before  the first day of school. I could not be more pumped and ready to go. I'm also super excited about being a TA and doing Hairspray rehearsals.

These all came today.

I actually had quite the stressful day right before getting completely moved out and going home for the weekend. It began when I went to the UVM Residential Life office, like I was told to do, and waited for ten minutes at the front desk until someone came out into the lobby to ask me if anyone had been helping me. Since no one was, the woman went back in and got me the key to my room. Once I was packed up, I moved a bunch (basically everything I owned) to Wills. When I went to lock the door, however, the key wouldn't turn in the lock. After swearing profusely, I ran to the front desk of my new dorm where the office manager was just about to take off for the day. She got me the right key all the while wondering why ResLife gave me the wrong one and where they got it. Needless to say that key worked.

Then, when I tried to turn my computer (Bertha) on to see if there was wireless in my new dorm, the screen fizzled out and went dark. I screamed and raced to the Computer Depot in the Davis Center with my baby clutched in my arms. There they hooked her up to another computer and determined that the problem was probably physical, so I had to send it in to the company. After talking with a thickly accented Indian customer service representative for an hour, we determined that there was definitely something wrong but my warranty had run out. It was cheaper to buy another computer.

Moment of silence for Bertha...........


Now enter Marcus, my new computer, who is very sleek and runs with Windows 7. I'm hoping Marcus will serve me well. This is my first blog post with him, and it's working quite well. Thank you, Costco! (Yes, we got my new computer at Costco.)


This weekend I also got the chance to go see Chase's directorial genius in Hairspray at the Haskell Opera House. I really missed that place from last summer, and I especially missed Lissy (who was amazing in the show), Chase (who needs a Broadway stage, stat), and Kat (who continues to astound me with her stage managing abilities). It was great to see everyone and take in an awesome show.

It was weird to watch the show and then come back to Burlington to start rehearsing it. But rehearse we did. Matt and I have been carpooling to rehearsals and totally rocking them. Hope you can all make it to the show! There will be links up soon over in the right sidebar. ------------------->


In the end: my back, my neck, my arms, my abs, and my legs are killing me. The dances are hard and I was totally drenched in sweat on Sunday but it's totally worth it. I missed working this hard for theatre so much. I felt so broken from lack of theatre (yet again) after having it the whole time last summer, and having this opportunity to perform on the big stage at the Flynn is absolutely amazing. For people like me, and Matt, and Chase, and Lissy, and Kat, anything is worth it for theatre.


And sweat is worth it.


Here are some more pictures from Megan and my drive yesterday to the Champlain Islands. It was a lot of fun and we found some Vermont nut free chocolates!

Another highlight from this weekend:





Peace out!

Just A Couple of Poems

I wrote these for my Creative Writing class. I think I'm going to start writing more because these were a lot of fun as was this class. Enjoy!

They told me she was gone.

They told me you were gone,

But I didn’t believe them.

I knew that tomorrow I had to wake up next to you.

They showed me your coffin,

Asked me to say something in your honor,

But I couldn’t do it, not for them.

I tried to remember why they were burying an empty coffin,

And I looked for you, honestly I did.

They told me you were gone.

I told them they were lying.

We would meet for dinner that night

At your favorite restaurant.

I would walk you through the park,

And the streetlights would illuminate the trees

So that they seemed to embrace us

Just as I stopped to caress your cheek.

I knew I would have to lean in close

And you would breathe softly

While your heart picked up speed.

Our lips had to touch,

And I had to hang onto you

Because I knew that I could never lose you.

They stand like mountainous pillars rising into the sky,

Taller than anything I’ve seen before.

My mind wanders along their sides,

Mixing with the smog and clouds above.

The lights are mesmerizing,

Illuminating the night as though the Sun’s light had been born on Earth.

Here I find no need to be scared,

Here I feel the pull of home.

Strolling the streets is like taking a tour of the world.

Different people of all different lives share this air, and share this city.

Everything is available, every culture represented, everyone has a place,

And every dream is achievable.

My dreams are born here,

In the whiskey-scented nightclubs and the haze filled dance floors,

From the wombs of Sondheim’s characters and the heart of Hammerstein’s music.

My soul was manifested from the backdoor alleyways and the rooftops at night,

My heart forged on the stage floor and exiting out the backstage door.

Peace out!

Days Like These

My alarm buzzed in its glaring tone at 6:30 a.m. Saturday morning. Weary, I rolled over and smacked my hand over the snooze. As the measly bits of early morning sunlight drifted through the room, I knew I had to get up if I was ever going to get everything done in this crazy, messed up day I had planned for myself.

And what a day it was...

My first task for the day was to take down some signs for a conference that had checked in the night before and use them to make my own signs for the hockey camp I had checking in this weekend. That went pretty well seeing how there was no one on the road that early in the morning, and it was hilarious to blast bad rap music while throwing signs out on the sidewalk. Then I had to grab door signs, candy, and cards to do room checks for the hockey camp. That got a little creepy seeing how the dorm complex was completely empty and every room in that place looks like a mental institution. I half expected Samara's ghost to be standing in the corner eyeballing me.

After an hour and a half of hanging signs and tossing maple candies into rooms, I ran over to Living/Learning to check the Puerto Ricans out that had been staying there since I started in May. For some reason, it took them a whole hour to drag their multitude of luggage over to the main desk so they could give me their keys. They were totally nice enough, but they propped the door to the main desk area open which set off this huge alarm. It blared throughout the entire hall, and I'm just running around being like, "GIVE ME YO KEYS! GIVE ME YO KEYS!" After about fifteen minutes, a member of the UVM Police stopped by for a little visit and I had to explain that there were a bunch of scientific Puerto Ricans checking out.

After that ordeal, I ran to make a quick lunch before working at the front desk until four. Then I had to run over with all of my check-in gear, including a stack of parking passes, to get ready to check in some of the hockey camp counselors. The check-in was supposed to happen outside, so I grabbed a small, round table for upstairs in the common room. Unfortunately, I didn't factor in my complete lack of strength as I attempted to hoist the puny, surprisingly heavy, table down the stairs. Then I rolled the monstrosity out the door and onto the lawn. I put everything, including the parking passes, down onto the table and went to go get a chair.

While I was gone, there must have been a monstrous gust of wind because the parking passes were blown everywhere. I spent ten minutes having a makeshift Easter egg hunt with the parking passes. I had just grabbed the last one when my client for the hockey camp drove into the parking lot.

Then I had to carry the table back upstairs...

At least Megan and I made the most fabulous nachos ever that night.

Peace out!

Ryan Performs in Places: Music Hall

"Out There" from Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Alan Menken

A freewrite I wrote yesterday for my Creative Writing class:

The concept of “art” means something different to everyone. It’s the emotion of something that brings art to life. When you create something that has an emotional impact on somebody or something, that’s art. It can be anything: dance, music, theatre, painting, sculpting, it could even be something as simple as a good dinner. Or for some art can be a sports game or a nice day. It is a moment, a simple, clear, and beautiful moment that sparks a heavy emotion. To me, life itself can be a high form of art. It’s God’s art in a way, because it (of course) sparks heavy emotion in all of us. But then again, what if art didn’t mean that to someone else? would that change the very concept and illusion of what art was. What if that painting wasn’t art? What if that chicken dish isn’t as beautiful as a Rembrandt or as thrilling as a hockey game? Then that would make art perceptive. Art would have to based on the individual’s perception on the world. That concept in itself is a thing of beauty, and therefore art. Here we find a cycle, just as precise and complex as the water cycle, but entirely based on the spectrum of human emotion and spirit. Yes, I mentioned spirit. For where does art exist if not the very soul of human beings? Where can art come from? Sure, there has to be some sort of logical, scientific explanation for where art comes from, some random synapse in the brain that triggers an emotional impact or the urge to create, to make, to do, to perform, to sing, to dance, etc. But what if…what if we just took a moment to ponder the wonderfully amazing idea that art can exist elsewhere. It can reside in a glorious tomb, womb, some word of like that…of the soul. Inside of the individual, there is a well of emotion that comes pouring forth from us, and that is where art takes hold. That is where art can capture the imagination. We see it in small children…how their imaginations can create friends and whole worlds. I remember as I child I could imagine that my whole backyard was an enchanted forest, and here I was an explorer of that forest, transcending the mundane of reality and delving into the fantastical. What is wrong with that? why can’t art explore itself in the reaches of humanity that scientists fear to tread? That is how art becomes us. It is the very meat of humanity. It is the very breath of humanity. One of my favorite theatre troupes is the Bread and Puppet theatre residing in Glover, Vermont. Their motto is “Art is Cheap” and that it is the very food for the soul. And why not? If it is made from the soul and produced in the very orifices of the human race, then why should we not take as much in as we can, like food to a starving homeless person. It is vital. It is life force. It is beautiful, wonderful energy. That feeling you get when you hear an amazing soprano belt the high note, when you stare at a painting and see the vibrant and ever so slight brush strokes, when you taste a delectable meal and sigh with contentment.

Peace out!